


Skin

by crownedcrusader



Category: Free!
Genre: Eating Disorder, Emphasis is on plot, Exercise Disorder, Image Issues, M/M, self-confidence issues, they barely even kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3960172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcrusader/pseuds/crownedcrusader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru and Makoto are best friends, boyfriends, and roommates in college. Things might have been perfect if it wasn't for Makoto vanishing to the gym for long hours in the mornings (and afternoons, and evenings, and nights). It's not that Haru's worried from the start, either. His boyfriend is fit, keeps in perfect shape, and always wants to be strong enough to help others. Nothing wrong with that, even if the exercise is a little excessive, and he doesn't seem to remember what rest days are.</p><p>It's just that Makoto started canceling lunch plans, too. </p><p>And the red flags were big enough, then, that Haru knew he had to find out what was wrong with his boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Slight adjustment to canon: Haru and Makoto are roommates at college, not a train-ride away. Also, you’ll see best friend and boyfriend used interchangeably, because they're both to each other.

While Makoto had always been an earlier riser than Haru, 5:30 was a little excessive, even for him. 

The noise of the alarm clock stirred Haru, and he blearily cracked open his eyes, finding Makoto across the room and slipping tennis shoes on. 

“Makoto?” Haru said, or tried to, his half-asleep state dropping more than half the word. Makoto seemed to understand anyways. 

His boyfriend looked up, a little startled. “Ah—Haru,” he said, voice quiet, soothing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it’d wake you if I turned it off quick enough. You can go back to sleep—I’m heading out right now anyways.”

Haru scrunched his face up into a small frown, not sure why Makoto would be going out for. But he was too tired to think too much of it, so he rolled over and fell back asleep. When he woke up, three hours later, the dorm room was still empty. 

It didn’t worry Haru, exactly, but he’d grown accustomed to his best friend and boyfriend being there for him in the morning. Who else would make sure he got to class on time? 

But a text a few minutes later proved that Makoto was still looking out for him—[Haru! Are you up yet? You have class at 9:15!]—so Haru shook off any unease he felt. 

Besides, it wasn’t like this was going to be a regular thing. 

\--

It became a regular thing. The eighth time in a row that Haru woke to either an early alarm or an empty bed across the room, he started to wonder. Makoto’s gym things were always gone, so he could assume Makoto was just working out, but at 5:30 in the morning? 

And to be gone for three hours after? 

Haru tried to brush it off—maybe Makoto was just working out then showering quick then meeting up with a friend for an hour or two—but something seemed off. 

When they’d been in the Iwatobi Swim Club together, they’d always told each other their regiments or seen them first hand. But Makoto had made no mention of even working out recently. Maybe he was waiting for Haru to ask? But then, come to think of it, he hadn’t seen much of Makoto at all the last week. 

Haru’s brow scrunched up in confusion. No, he was sure of it now. Something was definitely off. 

He’d watch Makoto more closely now. 

\--

Haru set his alarm for 5:15 and quickly shut it off so he wouldn’t wake Makoto. That way, he’d be wide awake by 5:30, and dressed and ready to join Makoto for an early morning workout. Haru was more fond of afternoon workouts—and he wasn’t exactly happy about adding another workout onto his swim regiment—but if something was bothering Makoto, Haru wanted to know about it. 

So imagine his surprise when, fifteen minutes later, Makoto dressed, half stumbled into tennis shoes, and drank a few sips of water before rushing out the door. 

Haru didn’t think Makoto had even noticed he was awake. 

He half wanted to roll back into bed and just pretend everything was alright, but he had a bad feeling, so he sighed and hustled out the door to follow Makoto at a distance. 

Whatever Haru had been expecting, it wasn’t Makoto taking off at an uncomfortably fast pace and maintaining it for almost an hour. Haru’s lungs burned—he should have brought water—but he wanted to follow Makoto. 

Once the hour was up, Makoto slowed to a jog, then a walk, and ended up with his hands on his knees, slumped over with trying to catch his breath. 

But once he’d stopped panting, he’d straightened up and immediately headed for the gym. 

Haru quirked his lips into a frown and he followed him into the building. So far, nothing seemed too worrisome. Makoto seemed to just want to get in even better shape—so what? But once they were in the gym, Haru found that nearly every one of Makoto’s exercises focused on the abdomen. 

Something seemed off. But Haru couldn’t quite place what, and by 7:30—had Makoto really been exercising for two hours already?—he had to leave to start getting ready. 

He never did find out exactly how long Makoto stayed. 

Something was still nagging on his brain, and he was a little worried—but if Makoto just wanted to get in shape, well, Haru wouldn’t interfere. 

\--

“Makoto,” Haru prompted, sitting across him in the café. “Are you going to get lunch?” 

Makoto’s nose had been in a book the whole time he’d been there with him, glasses practically brushing the pages. Even now, it seemed that Makoto hadn’t heard him, so Haru reached forward and pulled the book down. 

Finally Makoto looked up, green eyes swimming with momentary dizziness. Haru wondered at it, but before he could figure out if it was just his boyfriend reacting to the book's displacement, Makoto answered him. “I’m sorry, Haru—did you say something? I just have to re-read this last chapter before my next class, then I’m all yours.” 

Haru huffed. “Forget it. I’ll order something for you. Just keep studying if it’s that important to you.” 

As he was getting up to leave, though, Makoto gently took his hand. “No, no, really! It’s fine. I grabbed something earlier, I think.” 

“You’re sure?” Haru asked. Makoto using ‘I think’ was often a way of getting out of a real answer. He could say anything and tack ‘I think’ onto it, and if it turned out he was lying, he could easily say, ‘Oh, well, I thought I had, but I guess I hadn’t. Sorry!’ 

As if Haru didn’t know better than that. 

The questioning made Makoto flush a little, and Haru knew that Makoto probably hadn’t eaten. Still, Haru didn’t want to embarrass him, so he sat back down. “If you’re hungry, I’ll get you something. My treat.”

It was a rare day that Haru offered to pay, and he could tell Makoto looked tempted. But after a moment’s hesitation, he shook his head and adjusted his book in his hands. “I’ll grab something later. I appreciate the offer, though, Haru-chan.” 

Haru sighed but didn’t question him. Instead, he got up and ordered his own food, piling a little bit of it to the side, just within arm’s reach of Makoto. Just in case he wanted anything. 

Makoto took none of it, though Haru was sure he’d noticed it. 

It was a little worrisome. But he trusted his boyfriend to not outright lie to him, so he was sure Makoto ended up eating later, taking care of himself properly.

\--

Another week passed, and Haru noticed that Makoto was getting up at 5:30 every day—meaning he didn’t have any rest days in his workout schedule. That was strange—they’d all received quite a lecture from Kou on the importance of rest days. 

Maybe Makoto just didn’t want to get off of his new wake-up time, even for just a day? But he put on those tennis shoes every morning…

Haru was starting to get concerned, but with things like this, he’d never been the first to speak up. 

So he waited and hoped things would sort themselves out. 

\--

Things did not sort themselves out. 

Makoto stopped going out to eat with Haru at all. Somehow, he was always busy during lunch and Haru wondered—was Makoto really just busy? Or was he angry with him? Or avoiding him for some other reason?

It would be too strange for Makoto to be so busy that he couldn’t have lunch with Haru anymore, and Haru knew his boyfriend well enough to know when he was angry. 

But for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what was wrong with his boyfriend—if there even was something wrong with him. But avoiding Haru was a big red flag, and Haru knew he needed to figure out what it was signaling.

And he did, slowly. 

It started with a pamphlet tucked away in Makoto’s desk. 

“Freshman 15,” it was titled, in big, rounded letters, a measuring tape around the widest part of the words. Haru narrowed his eyes at it, then glanced to the door, worried just for a moment that Makoto would be back any minute. 

But Makoto had been gone around this this time every afternoon for the last two weeks, so Haru decided it was safe enough. 

The brochure, as it turned out, wasn’t one advertising for a club, or for the gym. Instead, it was merely a PSA. The “Freshman 15,” as it turned out, was the average weight gained by College Freshmen due to the sudden freedom of eating and exercise habits. Many athletes were affected, and non-athletes even more so. Joining a sport was recommended, as was going to the gym and just watching their eating habits. 

There was nothing particularly worrisome about the pamphlet itself. The only problem was that it was in Makoto’s desk. 

It had no business being here, because Makoto had taken very good care of his body. Haru was certain that if Makoto had gained any weight since being here, it was in muscle mass. 

And even if he had fallen victim to the notorious “Freshman 15”… Did it really prompt waking up at 5:30 every morning and exercising for over two hours? 

Remembering Makoto’s aversion to lunch plans, Haru frowned. No, there was a reason Haru had a bad feeling. 

He’d be talking to Makoto sooner rather than later. 

\--

Unfortunately for Haru, tracking Makoto down was the hard part. 

When he tried to talk to him the next morning, Makoto had politely excused himself and said he was going to be late if he stayed, and had rushed out the door without an explanation, though Haru knew where he was going. After their first classes, Haru texted Makoto to meet him at the library to study, but Makoto didn’t reply and was nowhere to be found. After their second classes and lunch, Haru sent Makoto another text, but while Makoto replied this time, it was to politely cancel. 

The day continued on much the same. It wasn’t until nine at night that Makoto finally stumbled into their shared dorm room. Haru had been working on an essay while he waited and planning what to say, but when the door opened, annoyance gripped him. He opened his mouth to ask where he’d been all day and why he’d been avoiding him, but then he noticed just how worn out Makoto looked. 

His best friend flopped onto his bed, chest heaving as if he’d just been working out. 

Judging by the workout clothes he had on, that was probably just what happened. And Makoto had worked out this morning, too—why was he working out so late at night? 

Haru narrowed his eyes, then shut his laptop. The essay could wait. His annoyance could wait. For now, all that mattered was figuring out what was wrong with his boyfriend. 

“Makoto,” Haru started, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of Makoto’s bed without prelude. “What have you been doing all day?” 

Makoto cracked his eyes open. “Hm?” he asked, his voice far away. Haru wasn’t sure if it was his boyfriend’s exhaustion or his lack of glasses, but it seemed as if Makoto was having trouble focusing on him. “What do you mean?” 

“You didn’t answer most of my texts.” Haru paused, waited for the right words to come, and struggled to get them out even after he found them. “Has. Has everything been okay?” 

The concern in his voice must have been pretty obvious, because Makoto sat up, suddenly worried about Haru. “Everything’s fine,” he replied automatically, not even thinking about an answer because no matter what he said, it needed to be something that could comfort his best friend. 

“Then why.” Haru gulped. “Why are you avoiding me so much during the day.” 

It was such a flat question, but Makoto knew it was hard for him to say. So Makoto sighed and sat up more, wincing—were his abs too sore for him to even sit up, Haru wondered? “I’ve been… training, lately. You work hard for swimming, and our workout schedules weren’t lining up, and the last thing you needed to do after working hard with swimming was have to bother with watching me work out.” 

Makoto sounded like he was being honest, and Haru wanted to trust him. He still had questions—what about that pamphlet, what about you never eating with me anymore, what about rest days, don’t you have those?—but Makoto just looked so tired. 

So instead of pressing the issue, Haru just looked seriously at his friend. “I meant what I said, before. I.” He paused, lips pressed together. “I appreciate you being here for me. You’re important to me.” And buried beneath that was, ‘Please take care of yourself. I love you. Don’t hurt yourself like this.’

A genuine smile appeared on Makoto’s face. Haru realized it was the first time he’d seen it in two weeks. 

“Thank you, Haru.” 

Haru nodded, then went back to his bed to work on his essay. Makoto fell asleep before the clock even struck ten. 

But Makoto was just tired from working out. Haru had nothing to worry about. 

\--

The conversation slowed Haru’s worry, but it didn’t erase it. The questions Makoto didn’t answer still lingered in the back of Haru’s mind, and he couldn’t forget the pamphlet he’d found in Makoto’s desk. 

Perhaps if Makoto had improved after that conversation, Haru could have put his worries to rest—but the problem was that Makoto was always tired now, and it was starting to make Haru even more anxious about his best friend. 

But he let a month go by before he dared to bring the conversation up again. 

It had lasted over six weeks total. Almost seven, now, and Haru wasn’t sure if Makoto’s body could take much more of it. 

It occurred to Haru that he hadn’t seen Makoto change clothes recently. Before, he hadn’t been shy about changing into pajamas before bed. Now, he just flopped into bed in his workout clothes if he was too tired—which was most days—but on the rare day that his chest wasn’t heaving and his forehead wasn’t still sticky with sweat, he brought his pajamas to the bathroom to change into. Once Haru realized that, then he decided things were just getting too worrisome. 

“Makoto,” Haru said, catching his boyfriend’s arm as he walked through the doorway. Lately, most of their conversations had started out this way. Makoto was too tired to interact much, and if Haru wanted Makoto’s attention, he had to reach out for him—not the other way around. It was concerning, to say the least, and Haru had difficulty adjusting after a lifetime of Makoto always taking that first step.

Makoto blinked at him, face pale and eyes bleary. “Yes, Haru?” he asked, attempting a smile. “What is it? I was about to go to bed…” 

“It’s only eight,” Haru said flatly. He walked with Makoto to his bed nonetheless, and sat next to him while Makoto crawled under the covers. He seemed as exhausted as ever, and Haru felt his heart clench. “Are you sure you’re still alright?” 

Makoto quirked his lips up into a smile again. This time it seemed more real. But it was still too rare these days, and Haru wished he could see it more. “Of course I’m alright, Haru-chan. I promise.”

“You’re…” Haru closed his eyes. “Makoto, you’re lying. I don’t believe you.” 

It seemed Makoto was taken aback. He sat up a little, and this time his hiss of pain was audible. Haru pushed him back to his pillows without prompting. He was taken aback by how firm his friend’s chest was—and how much more tense he was now compared to their days at Iwatobi. 

When Makoto opened his mouth to protest, Haru interrupted him. “Have you been eating properly?” 

There was such a profound look of disappointment on Makoto’s face that Haru—stoic, reserved Haru—was startled. Makoto hung his head and looked away from Haru, instead training his eyes on the wall behind them. “…I thought I’d been doing better.” 

The phrase turned some gears in Haru’s head, but they didn’t latch onto anything, so no ideas were given strength. Instead, Haru was just confused. “Doing better than what?” 

“I wasn’t eating well before,” Makoto mumbled. His voice became clipped, nervous, and his eyes didn’t seem to want to stay any one place for long. “I. At the start of the year, I wasn’t. I didn’t eat well. I started to,” he paused, finding it too embarrassing to say for a moment, two moments, before finally, “I started to gain weight, and I knew I needed to be more. Controlled. About what I ate and how often I worked out.” 

Haru squinted at Makoto, suddenly all too aware that his best friend embarrassed. Embarrassed, arund Haru? It set off alarms in Haru’s head, and he looked carefully at Makoto, listened to him more closely. There was something shameful in his voice—but Haru had been the place Makoto had put his fears before, so why hadn’t he told him earlier? 

“You looked fine. If you had, I didn’t notice,” Haru said. And then, a larger problem—“What do you mean you thought you’d been doing better, though.” 

“I wasn’t eating as much as I was before.” Makoto was really avoiding Haru’s eyes now as Haru furrowed his brows, confused—worried. “I,” he paused. “I started going with more salads. Not a big deal.” 

“How often?” Haru asked. It became uncomfortable to just sit on the edge of Makoto’s bed, so Haru shifted, now pressed against the other’s hip, and Makoto looked distinctly uncomfortable with the proximity. Haru stayed put. “Makoto. How often did you eat just salad?” 

“Not that often!” Makoto insisted. “Really, I’ve mostly just been exercising a lot. I know it’s important to eat plenty of protein when you exercise, don’t worry!” 

It was such a stupid excuse that Haru couldn’t help the blood rushing to his face. More than embarrassment—when did Haru ever really get embarrassed, anyways—he turned red when he was angry, and Makoto hid his face behind his hands before Haru could even say a word. 

“I’m sorry, Haru, please don’t be angry with me! I promise it’s not that big of a deal!” 

“Stop doing it, then,” Haru said firmly. “I have a nutritionist that plans my meals. I have a regiment that’s outlined for the best results without overworking me. You, on the other hand,” he said, somewhat forcefully pushing his palm flat against Makoto’s chest, “Have been planning your own workouts and hurting yourself with them. Stop.”

Haru had such a simple logic. He always had. But this—this should have been common knowledge, and yet Makoto seemed startled, self-conscious. Makoto bit the inside of his cheek. It had seemed so important before, looking good. But now he just felt embarrassed about it now that Haru was so worried. 

Finally Makoto nodded. His voice was small when he finally spoke back up; “Alright, Haru. I will,” he said, looking away from his best friend. “I promise I’ll stop.” 

Satisfied, Haru nodded his head and laid down on Makoto’s chest. “Good.” At Makoto’s tense posture, unsure why Haru had moved closer, he added, “I’m staying here for the night. You aren’t getting up at 5:30 tomorrow. You haven’t had a rest day since this whole thing started.” 

Makoto sighed but didn’t protest. Instead, he accepted his fate and absently wrapped his arms around Haru’s smaller frame. 

Things were quiet for a while. The conversation had been heavy, and Haru wasn’t tired since it was early, and Makoto was too worried to sleep; finally Haru shifted and moved to Makoto’s side, eyes still wide open. 

“Makoto,” he started, and this time he didn’t have to catch his friend’s arm to get his attention. 

“Yes, Haru-chan?” 

“You shouldn’t have thought you needed to do all this.” Haru looked seriously at him, a small frown on his normally impassive face. “You didn’t ever need to. I didn’t notice if you did gain weight. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Haru-chan.” 

“Even if you had, you shouldn’t have gone so overboard trying to lose it.” Haru tentatively pressed his fingertips against Makoto’s figure, feeling solid muscles just under the skin. Before, there had been the tiniest bit of softness—softness that may as well have been skin. It was gone now. Haru found that he missed it, even if he had hardly noticed it before. “You shouldn’t have been so embarrassed.” 

“Yes, Haru-chan.” 

It occurred to Haru that Makoto had said the same thing three times now, with only mildly differing tones. Haru frowned a little deeper. “Stop that.” 

Makoto cracked open an eye—had he been falling asleep?—and grinned. “Yes, Haru-chan.” 

It wasn’t much, but there was something relaxed about Makoto now, and Haru relished it. He didn’t know how much of a difference this talk had made, but he hoped it had. Or at least that it had made enough difference for Makoto to stop pushing himself so hard. 

For now, though, it was enough. 

Haru wouldn’t let him go and work out that morning, or that afternoon. He made Makoto eat lunch with him—a healthy, balanced meal, with vitamins he hadn’t been getting recently packed into it. And they ended up sleeping at a reasonable hour after they’d finished homework and relaxed with a game for a while. 

As far as Haru knew, things were better. 

\--

Another week passed, and Haru noticed that, while Makoto seemed a little better—not as tired, smiling more—he was still gone early in the morning and didn’t eat much at lunch no matter how Haru prompted him. Not to mention the irrational fear of unhealthy food that Haru had suggested for him—there had been no need to fidget just because Haru had mentioned the word ‘hamburger.’ 

Makoto was making progress, sure, but there was still something that lingered under the surface, and he hadn’t improved as much as Haru would have liked. 

So after that interim week of letting Makoto try to fix himself, Haru woke up at 5:30 the next morning and handed Makoto a piece of paper.

Makoto, half blind between his lack of glasses and having just woken up, squinted at the paper. “What’s this?” he asked, still in the middle of putting his shoes on. 

“It’s a workout schedule.” Haru paused, waiting for Makoto to understand it on his own, then when those green eyes just blinked at him, he elaborated. “Your new workout schedule. With menu plans.” 

Makoto, despite his usually appreciative nature, looked a little affronted by Haru’s gift. “Ah—thank you, and I’m sure this must have taken a lot of time, but—”

“Today is marked as your rest day. Take off your tennis shoes.” Haru waited for Makoto to cave, and after nearly two minutes’ hesitation—a stare down without Makoto actually meeting Haru’s eyes—and finally Makoto took his shoes off. “I’ll read it to you.” 

And Haru did, without waiting to see if Makoto was paying attention. 

By the time he’d finished, there was an embarrassed red across Makoto’s face, but it was the look of nausea that worried Haru the most. 

“That’s,” Makoto started, throat catching. “Less than half of what I’ve… And you put so much…” 

“Makoto.” Haru took hold of his hand, and Makoto didn’t pull away. “Either eat more or work out less. This is based on my schedule—I’m aiming to be an Olympic athlete. You aren’t. I take rest days, too—you need to as well.” 

Makoto shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting with the bottom of his hoodie. “Are you sure that I won’t,” he gulped, “Are you—are you absolutely sure that I won’t end up gaining weight if I—”

Haru got tired of listening to him stumble over his words. It was a stupid excuse, anyways. So Haru cut him off, frowning a little. “If that’s the only reason why you’re doing this, then I’m taking your tennis shoes.” 

The threat set Makoto into a panic, all wide eyes and wild gestures. “Haru—no, please, I promise that’s not the only reason! I just—”

“It shouldn’t be the reason at all. You work out to become strong and healthy. If you’re working out as hard as you’ve been doing just to keep from gaining weight—not even to lose weight if you've gained some, then…” Haru shook his head. “I’m taking your shoes anyways. That’s not a good reason to be working out like you are.” 

Makoto’s hands clenched at his sides. “I. It’s just.” He stopped, caught his breath, looked away from Haru. “I worked so hard to get strong before. I can’t—I can’t lose that, Haru.” 

“You won’t lose muscle mass just because you gain weight. The only thing that changes is how easy it is to see your muscles.” When Makoto looked conflicted, Haru continued, “If you want to just maintain what you had, then do what you were doing before. Maybe increase it a little if you notice it’s getting harder to do the same things. But you haven’t even been eating enough protein to build up the new muscle you should have been getting with that intense of a workout.” 

To prove his point, Haru pressed his hand against Makoto’s abdomen, where Haru knew he’d been concentrating most in his workouts. As he’d thought, everything just felt compressed. New muscle, if any, didn’t feel very strong. Not to mention the healthy soft tissue was gone now—Haru decided he definitely missed it. More than anything, he missed it because Makoto hadn’t been so worried about it back when he actually had any. 

What really set off alarm bells in his head, though, was that Makoto had flinched when he touched him there. 

His boyfriend, his best friend, the person that he would rather die than see hurt, had flinched at Haru’s touch. Haru narrowed his eyes but retracted his hand.

(Even if it was frustrating, he would never continue an action if Makoto was flinching, but why, why, was Makoto so against Haru touching there of all places?)

“Makoto.” 

Makoto looked away, trying his hardest to keep his face neutral. 

“Makoto.” There were the words ‘Look at me,’ hidden in his name, yet Makoto refused. So Haru forcibly took hold of Makoto’s chin and raised it so that Makoto had to look him in the eye. “It’s just a part of your body. It doesn’t matter what it looks or feels like. So long as you’re strong, that’s what matters. And even if you weren’t,” Haru stopped, tried to figure out what to say, and continued, “Even if you weren’t strong anymore, that would be fine. Makoto is Makoto. That’s what matters.” 

There was silence for just a moment, then finally, a reaction. But of all the things that Haru had been expecting, it wasn’t for Makoto to start crying. 

Haru hadn’t seen Makoto cry since they were small, when Makoto cried whenever he got scared because he hadn’t learned to hide behind Haru yet. 

But Makoto’s eyes were filled with tears and he suddenly pitched forward and pressed his face into Haru’s chest. Haru stiffened, startled, but wouldn’t dream of pushing his best friend—his boyfriend, his everything—away. 

Haru, never much for talking, just held onto Makoto, rubbing a hand up and down his back. Makoto stopped crying soon enough, but when he pulled away, his eyes were still puffy and red, and he looked like he was still upset about something. 

But at least he wasn’t crying anymore. 

“It’s not even six yet. You can go back to bed if you want,” Haru said softly, and Makoto nodded, but made no move to lean back onto his pillows. 

They sat like that for a while before finally Haru sighed and pressed a hand against Makoto’s chest, pushing him till he laid down. Haru joined him, his head resting on his boyfriend’s chest, turned so that he could just see his face.

And that’s when he saw it, the sight that made everything worthwhile. 

Makoto’s was smiling at Haru. It wasn’t a happy smile—more of an amused smile—and his eyes were still puffy and red. But it was a smile nonetheless. Haru took it as a victory as he settled comfortably against him, wrapping Makoto’s arms around him. 

“Are you going to make me sleep?” Makoto asked.

Haru grunted in affirmation. 

“What about class?” he asked, but there was still amusement in his voice. Haru knew he wasn’t being serious. 

“Rest day. You’ve earned it.” And, to keep Makoto from getting any ideas, Haru reached over and turned off his cell phone, where Makoto had most of his alarms set. “No alarms. I’m skipping class with you today, and once we get up, you’re getting a good breakfast.” 

Makoto didn’t look happy about it, but he didn’t protest, and Haru took that as a victory, too. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Haru tilted his head up and gave his boyfriend a quick kiss. “Go to sleep now. I’m going to stay with you until you’re better.” 

For some reason, Makoto hesitated. “That might take a while, Haru,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure how long it’ll be before I’m,” he paused, gulping down the anxiety, “better.” 

Haru, though, just stayed put. “That’s fine. Makoto is Makoto,” he said, face as impassive as ever. “I’ll stay with you no matter what you do, or what problem you’re going through.” In a rare romantic gesture, Haru took hold of his boyfriend’s hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. “You’re perfect any way you are.” 

Makoto’s lips quavered. “Thank you.” 

Haru grunted in affirmation and leaned more comfortably against his boyfriend. “Now sleep.” 

Eventually, they both did. 

\--

It had been three months since Makoto had started his excessive exercising. Both were reluctant to call it an eating disorder—though Haru knew it bordered on one. Calling it such a thing, though, seemed to only give it power, so they just referred to it as excessive exercise and minimal eating—Makoto’s old problem, if they didn't want to call it by name. 

Calling it an old problem helped make it sound like Makoto was well on his way to beating it, which helped. And Makoto was beating it, bit by bit. 

Some days were harder than others. Sometimes when he ate he was convinced his stomach was bloated outwards, unattractive, swollen; Haru assured him it wasn’t, and even if it was, that it wasn’t noticeable. On really bad days, Haru offered to go for a jog with his boyfriend in the evening, just like they used to back in Iwatobi. 

It helped. 

The Freshman 15 Makoto had been so worried about ended up being, at most, the Freshman 5. There was the tiniest bit of softness to his middle now, and Haru made sure to trail kisses down it whenever he got the chance, and when he couldn’t make it so obvious, he contented himself with wrapping his arms around Makoto’s waist. 

Makoto never voiced it, but Haru saw the way his lips pressed together when he saw himself in the mirror. The unsaid ‘I was so scared of looking like this and now I do and I still can’t stand it.’ 

“You look fine, Makoto,” Haru would always reply, even though Makoto hadn’t said a word. 

And on the rare occasion that Makoto would sigh, would look away and say, “I wish I hadn’t gained this back,” Haru would come up to him and wrap his arms around his waist, one palm flat against his boyfriend’s tummy. 

“I’m glad you’re healthy now,” Haru would emphasize. And, if that put even a small smile on Makoto’s face, Haru would back it up with a mischievous smile and a, “Besides, you did this to yourself. Your metabolism slows when you don’t eat enough.” 

Makoto would roll his eyes—Haru was right, even if it was frustrating—and pull his arms tighter around him, and then they’d get on with their day. 

Because—and Haru was happy to know it—now his weight wasn’t the center of Makoto’s thoughts anymore. His boyfriend could wake up, put clothes on, pout for a moment about his reflection, maybe, then get on with his daily routine and not worry too much about what he looked like once he was out and about. 

Things were getting better.


End file.
